a quiet place.
- 2009.01.19 16:57:54 EST
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went to charlie's old house today to see what there was to see and i have to admit it was much more interesting than i expected.
we tried to get into the canyon before sunset sunday night, but seeing the car-wide, wet, rocky canyon road in the dimming light, we decided to camp on the valley floor instead. it's been a long time since i've been someplace that open and large and vastly devoid of anything human. the darkness and the stories c. had been reading us about the family tinged the night with unbalance. i woke to braying of feral burros, just before sunup. sleeping was easier than the night before in fall canyon because i was less concerned with being trapped and more full of hydrocodone, which now makes me itch like a coke addict.
it took a long time to find the house - beyond goler wash at the mouth of the canyon there were many many more forks in the road than we expected. and our two sources for finding the place disagreed on how to get there, so there was a lot of uphill walking, climbing to the highest point around, scouting, backtracking and trying again.“does this look like a tree to you?”
the canyons were speckled with head-sized cacti and i could see how it would be impossible to be unable to hide and watch for trouble from the cliffs.
so up and up we went into the vast dry and sun-beaten pastel landscape. we finally found the tree (a real tree) and it smelled faintly of farm and i knew this fork was going to lead us somewhere other than more untouched hilly desert. and, i have to say, the ranch was great and eerie and beautiful and disgusting. so small and dark inside and incomprehensibly bright and open outside, with just the right amount of rust and decay. the light of the day alone was amazing. the stories we'd heard all had locations and triggered reenactments in my head as i looked around the rooms. i understood why c. had been so fascinated for so long. as c. read on and on the visions filling the room became thicker. so thick i could smell them and feel the breeze as they moved around me. many things resolved very quickly. it wouldn't have been a bad place to see the end of the world. i wish we had had more time to feel the place, but my watch was screaming about sunset and the hike back. i cooked lunch on a table in the yard and we sat in the sun and baked in the silence and i tried to see if i could sense any man-made imprint. i don't really understand my reaction to lonely places like that - sometimes i think it's all i could ever need and sometimes i think it's the movement alone i'm in love with.
as we left for the downhill hike, a sweet green smell and a dozen or so crows chased us from the house.